


An Ear for Music

by tifaching



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Gen Work, John Winchester Not Being an Asshole, Musician Sam Winchester, Pre-Canon, Winchester Family (Supernatural) Fluff, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:28:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21962065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tifaching/pseuds/tifaching
Summary: Sam's been able to play music by ear since he was little.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	An Ear for Music

**Author's Note:**

> My very late and incomplete entry for the spnj2_Xmas exchange on LJ. Sorry this is so late, stanfordsamlj, it's more Happy New Year than Merry Christmas at this point. The second chapter, which is more to the prompt of teen Sam and Dean where Sam has the ability to play music perfectly when he's only heard it a time or two is coming soon.

June, 1990

Dean’s got a tin ear. Sam overheard the music teacher at school say it last Friday and he’s been worried about it every day since. He’s stared at Dean’s ears when he thinks his brother isn’t looking but they don’t look any different. Robots might have parts made out of metal and bionic people have special ears but Dean’s not either of those things and he really can’t understand how Dean could have gotten tin in his ears. He’s been sliding up close to Dean on the couch and trying to stare into his eardrums for the past few days, but he really can’t see anything. Dean’s currently sitting in the apartment’s one decrepit armchair, nose deep in the latest issue of Spiderman and Sam takes that moment to flick at his brother’s ear to see if he gets a tiny clinking noise for his efforts.

“Hey!” Dean bats at Sam’s hand, backing the smaller boy off. “What the hell, Sam?”

John looks up from the papers he has spread in front of him at the kitchen table. “No fighting, boys.”

“Not fighting,” Sam says. “Just checking.”

“Checking what? How hard you can flick my ear? Because,” Dean says, peering over his comic, “I can flick yours a whole lot harder if you want to keep this going.”

Sam really doesn’t. Dean’s flicks hurt. Still, even though it might be tattling, Dad doesn’t seem to know anything’s wrong with Dean. So he takes a deep breath and slides into the chair next to his father’s at the kitchen table. “Dad,” he says, waiting for him to finish marking up the paper in front of him. “Mrs. McKelvey says there’s something wrong with Dean’s ears.”

John carefully places the cap on his pen before setting it down and pins his gaze on his eldest. Dean’s face is twisted up in confusion as he stares at his brother. “Dean? You having problems with your ears? Any ringing? Trouble hearing?”

“No!” Dean’s reply is emphatic. He narrows his eyes at his little brother. “Is that why you’ve had a bug up your butt about my ears this weekend? What did she say was wrong with me?”

“Yes, Sammy, tell me exactly what she said.” John puts a hand on Sam’s thin shoulder. “If she told you something was going on with Dean instead of telling me, I’ll be heading down first thing Monday morning and we’re going to have a problem.”

“Well,” Sam says, shrugging. “She didn’t say it to me. She said it to Mr. Poucher, the band teacher. I was waiting in the hallway for Dean and just heard her say it. They were talking about who would get to sing in the end of year concert and she said Dean couldn’t because he had a tin ear. His ears seem okay to me.” He fixes his father with a distressed gaze. “Maybe it’s on the inside?”

John’s lips twitch up and he starts to chuckle. “A tin ear,” he says, shaking his head.

“What’s so funny?” Dean sits up straighter, dropping his comic book to the couch. “What does it mean?”

“Take it easy, Dean.” John holds up a hand. “I’ve got a tin ear too. It means we’re tone deaf.” He pauses with a sigh, running a hand down his face at the confused looks on his sons’ faces. “We can’t sing. Your mom used to tell me I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. She had the musical ability in the family. Passed it on to Sammy, far as I can tell. All it means is that when you and I hear music and try to sing it’s not quite right. That’s probably why you didn’t get a part in the concert.”

“Didn’t want a part,” Dean mutters. “I can hear fine.”

“Yep. Some things you can. You can hear a hiccup in the Impala’s engine almost better than I can.” He turns to Sam. “You on the other hand, well, I think your talents lie in a different direction. You’re a little young yet to see if you go Dean’s way in mechanical aptitude, but there’s no denying your ear for music. How old was he when he started playing that thing?”

Dean follows his father’s outstretched finger to the toy xylophone sitting in the corner near the television. “I don’t know. Three, maybe? Someone left it at a hotel room we were in and he started banging away on it.”

“Started playing the theme songs to all the tv shows you two were watching at them time, if I recall. What was the first one?”

Dean grins and sings off key. “A three hour tour. Gilligan’s Island. Heard it, like, twice and then just played it.”

“It’s for babies, though.” Sam looks at the xylophone forlornly. “It doesn’t have enough notes. The one at school is better. I can play more things on it.”

“Can’t lug a full size xylaphone around with us, kiddo. That one's going to have to do for now. Second grade part of the end of year concert too?”

“Yeah,” Sam says quietly, casting a sideways glance at Dean. “I’m singing This Land is Your Land with Anna Simonds.”

“That’s awesome,” Dean says with a grin and Sam can tell he means it. “They going to let you play the piano too?”

“No,” Sam looks down. “Mrs. McKelvey says maybe next year I can learn to read music. Then I can play.”

“Can you not play stuff on the piano just by hearing it like you can the xylophone? That’s bullcrap!” Dean’s outraged on Sam’s behalf.

“I can. But it’s big and I can only try before class starts. When I’m bigger I’ll do it better.”

“Yeah, you will.” John scoops Sam into his lap and shoves his papers into a folder. “That’s pretty much true of everything.”

“We’ll still be here for it, right?” Sam glances anxiously at his father. “The concert? And you’ll come?”

“We’ll be here until the school year ends and a little while more. And we will definitely be at your concert.”

Sam breathes out a tiny sigh of relief. He’s never sure how long he’s going to get in a place before they have to move on. Before he started school it didn’t matter so much, but now… “Maybe we can stay here next year too?” Sam doesn’t miss this quick eye contact between his father and his brother.

“I don’t think so, son. My job keeps me on the road a lot, you know that.” He smiles at Sam with a tired expression in his eyes. “Maybe someday I’ll be able to settle you boys down in one place and stick around for a while.”

“And we’ll have a piano.” Sam says it softly, almost under his breath, and leans back as his father’s arms tighten around him.

*

The night of the concert is mild and clear, stars shining brightly in the dark Colorado sky. Sam's in the back seat of the Impala as John wheels them into the already crowded parking lot. He's wearing his best collared shirt, grey with red stripes and no holes, blue jeans and sneakers. It's what most of the kids will be wearing so he doesn't feel out of place like he did in his last school. He waves goodbye to his father and Dean and heads for his classroom to get ready.

"Get good seats," he calls as he runs down the hall.

*

Sam can hear the first graders finishing up and heading off stage right as he and his class gather on the opposite side to wait for their entrance. He's nervous, though he knows his part backward and forward. As an exercise he tried running the notes in reverse in his mind and it played perfectly. Sometimes he wonders if it's weird he can do that but Mrs. McKelvey says he might be a prodigy and it's just the way his mind works. Teachers know stuff like that so he doesn't worry about it too much. Finally their cue sounds and he files onto the stage with his class. Mr. Poucher is at the piano and as he plays the opening notes of their first song Sam peers out into the audience looking for his father and Dean but the lights on the stage are bright and the auditorium is dark and he can't make out a single face. He stifles the feeling in the pit of his stomach because he knows they're out there and launches into This Little Light of Mine with the rest of his class. When the applause dies down and they've added My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean to their concert repertoire, Sam takes a deep breath and steps up on the platform by the xylophone at the side of the stage. He picks up the mallets and gently plays the first notes of This Land is Your Land as Anna steps up beside him. They share a glance and a small, nervous smile that turns into a real smile on Sam's part when "Go, Sammy!" echos from the back of the hall. He finally relaxes into the music as his and Anna's voices ring out clear and crisp over each note struck on the instrument's bars. When they finish the applause is thunderous and Sam walks off the stage like he's on a cloud.

"That was great!" Dean claps Sam on the back when they meet up after the show. "You should have told us you were playing!"

"I wanted it to be a surprise," Sam says, leaning into his father's hug. "You liked it?

"It was fantastic." Sam's stomach gurgles and his father laughs. "Now I know why you didn't want dinner before we came. Butterflies in your stomach. C'mon, we're going for pizza, star of the show."

*

School ends two weeks later on a Thursday and John has them packed and ready to go a week after that. Sam stands forlornly on the porch watching Dean load their small bags into the trunk. He's got the toy xylophone tight against his chest, the mallets clutched in his hand.

His father comes out of the house and pulls the door closed. "Hope you've got everything." He flicks his finger against the xylophone. "Taking that with you?"

Sam shakes his head slowly. "I'm too big for it now. Maybe some little kid would like it." He looks up at his father. "Could we drop it off at the Goodwill on our way out of town?"

"If that's what you want."

*

Sam runs into the Goodwill and back out in a matter of minutes, empty handed. He slides into the back seat next to Dean and sings along with him to each song that comes on the radio. He drums out the beat on the leather upholstery and doesn't look back as they drive out of town.


End file.
